


Be Strong Hajime!

by Rawrsuzie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: I tagged other characters but they are only mentioned briefly, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru Fluff, Iwaizumi wants that booty tho, Jealous Iwaizumi Hajime, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Oikawa in a pair of booty shorts, Oikawa's a little shit, Some Plot, Thirsty Iwaizumi, Tried for sin and ended up getting them together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8920093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rawrsuzie/pseuds/Rawrsuzie
Summary: Oikawa wears a pair of sinful shorts to practice and Iwaizumi looses his sanity.





	

**Author's Note:**

> tfw you try to write sin and you end up getting your ship together. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> My first Haikyuu!! fic ever and I write about sin!Oikawa and thirsty!Iwaizumi. I actually was inspired by an artwork on Pinterest, couldn't find the original artist though or else I would link the picture.
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy and feel free to comment and roll around in IwaOi trash with me. (´▽`ʃƪ)♡

“ _Dude, are those shorts even legal…!”_

Hanamaki poses a very legitimate question, one that Iwaizumi had been wondering the answer to way before practice even began. He knew from the very beginning, watching as his childhood friend saunter into the locker room, looking every bit as confident as he did during one of their volleyball matches, that they all were in for a serious amount of trouble.

So when Oikawa unzipped his duffle bag and proceeded to pull out and put on the _shortest, tightest,_ most _scandalizing_ pair of shorts to ever exist in the history of revealing clothing, Iwaizumi knew that _somebody_ wasn’t going to make it through their practice.

And after barely even a quarter into it, he was positive it was going to be him.

Seeing Oikawa stationary in those _sinful_ shorts was one thing, but watching him bustle around the court in them was probably the reason why dress codes existed in the first place because how could _anybody_ get through a whole year of seeing something like this when he could barely even go a solid minute. Oikawa was infuriatingly pretty—hell, Iwaizumi would even say he was stunning. Oikawa could be at his absolute worst:  fresh out of bed with drool slathered across the side of his cheek and bedhead that could rival Nekoma’s captain, and still manage to be the most endearing piece of trash he’s ever witness. (And that was probably a personal bias.)

So Oikawa purposefully trying to look good was _dangerous_.    

And Iwaizumi is certainly _feeling_ that danger as practice slowly progresses by, time seemingly standing still every time he glances up at the clock, praying that practice was nearly over  so that he could salvage even an ounce of his reputation that his ‘best friend’ hadn’t already ruined for him by being…himself.

He thanks whatever deity out there that volleyball practices were off-limits to anyone but the players themselves; he swears that he’ll scream if he hears one more person mention something about Oikawa’s as—shorts.

_‘Be strong Hajime.’_ He tells himself as Oikawa picks the perfect time to dash past where he and Hanamaki are hitting back and forth, spiking down a ball with deathly precision that leaves Matsukawa gawking at him from across the net. He guesses though the stare is directed less at Oikawa’s skills and more from the nice view Oikawa’s just given them—enticingly smooth legs (because the idiot actually shaves) with thick, voluptuous thighs, and he is pretty sure that he can see a bit of ass cheeks peeking out—

Iwaizumi’s convinced that he’s descending into madness and his only consolation is that the other third-years seem to be just as fucked as he is.

What is seriously pissing him off though is the fact that Oikawa _knows_ exactly what he’s doing to all of them right now and has every intention of making it even _worse_ than it already is. This trash of a person who _purposefully_ wore those shorts in order to get a rise out of everybody.

_“Iwa-chan, how could you possibly accuse me of doing something so perverted? I told you already that Takeru-chan spilt his juice on me when we were practicing yesterday and these were the only shorts I had left! It saddens me how much you don’t trust me, Iwa-chan!”_

Iwaizumi doesn’t trust that blatant lie nor does he trust that shit-eating smirk Oikawa delivered it with. He’s crossed between strangling him or throwing him down on the ground and—

Iwaizumi accepts his arrival into craziness seeing as it’s the only thing that makes any remote sense in his brain at this point. Sexual tension be damned, his mental state is at stake here.

And just when the vice-captain thinks this situation can’t possibly get any worse, the impossible happens.

Kyoutani comes barreling into the gymnasium at top speed chasing after Yahaba, god knows for what reason, and Yahaba just narrowly avoids knocking into their captain who’s in mid-sprint, becoming airborne for a split-second and sending another deadly serve across the court at Matsukawa before landing firmly back onto the ground. Kyoutani isn’t as fortunate, instantly colliding with his captain sending the both of them tumbling to the ground…

…into the filthiest, most suggestive position Iwaizumi probably has ever seen.

Face down, ass up, buried into his kouhai’s chest, straddling said kouhai whose hands hold tightly to his lithe waist—to keep him off or to steady none could be sure.

And Iwaizumi can _definitely_ see both ass cheeks this time.

All it takes is a once over to X-rated scene the two of them make in the middle of the damn floor for something ugly to start stirring the pit of Iwaizumi’s stomach and he can’t think possibly think of an even worse time for his jealously to start kicking in.

He chances another glance over at the two of them and loses all sense of reason when he realizes that _Oikawa_ of all people is suddenly _blushing furiously at Kyoutani._

That about does it for his sanity.

He feels himself marching across the court towards the provocative two, relishing in the look of utter terror that crosses Oikawa’s face as soon as he gets a fist-full of his jersey in his hands. He forcibly drags him off of the court, ignoring his shrieks and squirming as Iwaizumi slides him across the gymnasium and into the locker room where he proceeds to throw him into a random bench and deadbolts the door behind him.

“I-Iwa-chan…? H-hey…! Why are you locking that door?”

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath before turning around. Oikawa is sitting parallel of where he’s standing; legs shamelessly spread apart, a look of dread still present on his stupid face.

He takes a step forward.

“Iwa-chan…I know that look, please don’t be mad with me…!”

Another step.

“Iwa-chan, you do know that Mad Dog-chan ran in to _me_ right?”

Another step and another.

“Please have mercy, Iwa-chan! I’m too young and beautiful to die!”

Another step and a hand fisting the collar of Oikawa’s jersey.

“Iwa-chan…?”

Iwaizumi almost smiles at the way he squeaks out the nickname.

“…you have two options.” His voice is low and gruff sounding—he’d think it pretty cool if not for how frustrated he is.

Oikawa says nothing, but Iwaizumi almost swears that he can see him shiver at the tone of his voice.

“Option one is you change out of those disgustingly revealing things you dare to even consider a pair of shorts and throw them somewhere that nobody will ever have the misfortunate of seeing you in again.”

Oikawa visibly gulps and when he speaks, his voice is completely submissive—devoid of all arrogance and teasing, maybe even a little shaken if Iwaizumi’s not imagining things. “…A-and option two…?”

He doesn’t say it to be defiant, Oikawa seems genuinely curious at whatever second option Iwaizumi could possibly be offering.

Iwaizumi swallows hard, confidence slowly seeping out of him and he decides that he _needs_ to say this next part _right_ now or he may never have the balls to do it again.     

“…option two is that you let me kiss the shit out of that stupid mouth of yours _and_ you change out of those stupid damn shorts so we can go back to practice in peace.”

Because when he woke up this morning, the last thing he’d been expecting to be doing today during practice would be confessing to his one and probably only crush he’s ever had the misfortune of falling for. After _years_ of pinning for one of the most impossible, insufferable, aggravating, obnoxious, most idiotic individual he’s ever had the displeasure of being stuck with and he can’t possibly _fathom_ why a pair of shorts is giving him the confidence _now_ of all times to confess in a smelly, sweat-filled locker room of all places, but the world happens to work in weird ways and he knows that in a world filled with Oikawa that this is relatively normal.

So in the locker room of a sport that the two of them hold very closely to their hearts does Iwaizumi uproots the longest standing friendship he’s ever had in his entire life time and he only feels slightly guilty in the fact that this is probably the least romantic confession Oikawa’s gotten.

But after years of thinking his feeling to be unrequited and years of being so sexually frustrated that jerking off in the shower seems more of a chore than an activity of pleasure, after watching Oikawa send him these _looks_ that he felt like he knew what he was thinking—but did he _really_ know what he was thinking or was that just his wishful thinking—

He was just fucking ready to throw caution to the wind and hopefully score himself the only ass that’s ever plagued even his wettest of dreams.

Not that he would _ever_ tell Oikawa that.

And so he stares warily at his childhood best friend feeling a mixture of three things: terrified out of his ever loving mind, hopeful, and—if he’s being completely honest, horny as hell.

Oikawa gaze bores into his with an expression that Iwaizumi can only assume is shock, blinking up at his vice-captain as if he’s grown a second head. He patiently waits in silence, refusing to be the one to break it first, stomach and heart clenching simultaneously with every second that ticks by, leaving with a deeply rooted feeling of dread and exhaustion.

His heart almost jerks out of his chest when he feels Oikawa’s hand clasp around the one still clenching into his collar. He bats his eyelashes slowly up at him and smiles in a way that is meant to be flirtatious, but somehow ends up looking cheesy in an endearing sort of way.

“So if I let you kiss me…” he starts, dragging his tongue teasingly across the top of his lip, “…I can keep the shorts?”

And Iwaizumi could cry, with relief or with happiness—whichever he’s not entirely sure. He slowly unclenches his fist and gently takes the soft, calloused hand that could only belong to Oikawa because no one else could possibly have hands that stayed so soft and beautiful even when littered in callouses and cuts from the wear-and-tear that came with being a volleyball player. He runs his own rough, calloused fingers across the bumps of his knuckles, trying desperately to wipe off the stupid grin he knows is already there.

“Shittykawa,” he swears, not even bothering to mask the happy lit that’s seeped its way into his voice, “you can only keep them if you never wear them here, or anywhere where people can see you ever again.”

Oikawa grins, tilting his head left and right with his other hand propped on his chin like he’s considering Iwaizumi’s proposition. “But Iwa-chan…what’s the point of having them if I can’t wear them for anybody.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t even skip a beat. “I can think of someone you can wear them for.”

And Oikawa’s smile looks like the cat that ate the canary; Iwaizumi can’t even summon the urge to knock the expression of his face either with how genuinely _happy_ he’s feeling this very moment. “Do you now, Iwa-chan?”    

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi smirks and this time he’s sure he feels Oikawa shudder.

“Who might that be then, Iwa-chan?”

“Me.”

And he proceeds to kiss his childhood friend soundly on the lips.

When they pull apart, Oikawa’s face is ten times redder than it had been previously and he’s breathing slightly heavier than normal. “I don’t think that counts as ‘kissing the shit’ out of my mouth, Iwa-chan. You’ll have to try better than that if you want me to change.”

And so he does, until they both of them are smiling, laughing against the others mouth, kissing until their lips swell and their lungs can’t possibly go any longer without oxygen. Until Oikawa is straddled across Iwaizumi’s lap, arms around his neck and hands fluffing though his hair. Iwaizumi brings a hand to his hip that moves slightly with every deepened kiss and every bitten lip, eventually landing on the very reason any of this happened to begin with.

Iwaizumi gives it nice squeeze if only to justify what’s been bothering him ever since they started practice this morning (even longer than that if he’s being honest) and at the little, needy moan that Oikawa gives, he decides that changing can definitely wait.

Practice had only just begun.


End file.
